Andante, Andante
by Spikesgirl58
Summary: Napoleon goes about trying to win back Illya's trust after he finds Illya in Jackson.


Illya Kuryakin sprawled out naked on his bed, save for a towel around his waist. He stared at a sheet of paper and wondered if drops of blood were appearing on his forehead yet. It was time to start planning Taste's Valentine's Day event and he really needed something to really blow the socks off his patrons. It had to be sensual without being overt, tasteful, of course, but also with a little bit of whimsical fun. There was the added stress of their restaurant's popularity. Taste had made itself a name, a name to the tune of four Micheline stars and that carried a tremendous burden.

He doodled a series of circles with pencil and thought. His brain, however, was elsewhere these days, as was, indeed, his groin. With Napoleon back in the picture, he was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate upon his work. All he wanted was to keep Napoleon in his sights. He wasn't going to lose him again.

The bed dipped and he felt warm skin against his back.

"Pardon me, is this spot taken?" The question was followed by a series of kisses, then Napoleon settled alongside him.

"Now that you mention it." While the thought of rolling over and taking Napoleon was enticing, he had to get this done.

"What are you doing?" Napoleon nuzzled Illya's neck.

"Trying to cobble together a menu for our Valentine's Day Event. We do a pre-set menu and it's hard to find something that everyone agrees on."

"You don't need to have everyone agree on it, just the women." Napoleon reached for the paper and read it. "So you are serving doodles?"

"And now you know my problem."

"What's wrong?"

"You are." This time Illya did roll over to face him. "I can't seem to keep my mind, hands…" The towel gapped to reveal his erection. "Or other parts off you."

"Guilty as charged." They kissed and Illya fought surrendering. He needed to bring something to the table, literally.

He pulled away and returned to the paper. "I need something special, something that makes people sit up—"

"Strap them to the chairs…" Napoleon suggested, but he backed off.

"Funny. I need apps, soup or salad, and, at least, three entrees."

"What about dessert?"

"Jesus will take care of take - thankfully."

"Apps are easy – oysters."

"I can't just serve oysters, Napoleon. I need something that reflects our restaurant and our standard…"

"Serve them with a pearl." He laughed at the thought, then sobered at Illya's expression. "I was joking."

"But that's a great idea."

"Illya, pearls are expensive."

"Not real ones, Napoleon, but serve with a string of edible sugar pearls." Illya started to nod. "We need something else for the folks who aren't fond of oysters. Brie?"

Napoleon smiled. "I remember having it once with walnuts and cherries."

"Or how about a balsamic reduction with cherries?"

"I'd order that." Napoleon smacked his lips together at the thought. "Or meatballs."

"Meatballs?"

"I was in New Orleans once and had incredible bourbon-glazed meatballs."

"These are great, Napoleon. Go on."

"Me? I'm no chef."

"But you have dined in some of the best restaurants in the world, Napoleon. What do you remember?"

Napoleon sighed and spoke sofly. "Very little at times. I do remember once, some place in Osaka, getting soup in a paper cup. It was suspended over a lit brazier, but the paper didn't burn."

"The outside of the paper was probably coated with something. What was the soup?"

"Fish? Trout?"

"Not very romantic."

"True, plus I seem to remember it being highly seasoned, which led to bad breath later in the night. You'd want something red anyhow… what about tomato?"

"Too easy… what about strawberry soup? It could be served hot or cold, maybe with some champagne for an extra kick."

"Added at the table," Napoleon suggested. "That would be fun." That garnered Napoleon a kiss.

"I knew you were more than just good looks." Illya scribbled down the ideas. "What about entrees, skipping the usual surf and turf."

"Why skip it? Just improve upon it."

"How do you improve on filet mignon and lobster?"

Napoleon fingered Illya's hair, letting the strands trickle through his fingers. "By reimagining it."

"Like lobster quiche or lobster stuffed manicotti? Or a risotto?"

"Possibly. Dressed with a really elegant sauce, why not? You can't go wrong with pasta." Napoleon pulled Illya's face closer to him. "And now I feel the need to be rewarded for infinite patience."

"Infinite patience?" Illya grinned as Napoleon's erection prodded his side. "For you, that's an oxymoron." He tried for more, but suddenly Napoleon's mouth was on his, tongue probing. Illya knew when to say when and he relaxed into the kiss, taking all that Napoleon had to offer.

Even with Napoleon so close and so intimate, a little voice niggled at the back of Illya's head. _He's only here until he gets bored, you know._

When Napoleon pushed into him, Illya let a little gasp escape. Partially it was from the feeling of being so connected, but part of it was in sorrow fearing this might be the last time. He pushed that aside and rode a wave of desire and need until he felt Napoleon stiffen against him, heard his half stifled sob as he climaxed. Only then did Illya relinquish his grip of control. He climaxed so hard, he could feel it in his skull and his chest heaved, trying to keep up with the demand for oxygen.

Napoleon flopped back, a goofy smile on his face. "Oh, Illya, what you do to me."

"Nothing good, I hope." Illya didn't bother to avoid the semen dampening the towel beneath him. Right now, he just wanted to hold onto the feeling of limp satisfaction that flooded his body. For just a moment, it was just the two of them – no past, no worries, no obstacles, just them.

Napoleon traced a line down Illya's back, then dipped in to lick the sweat from it. "I love the taste of you."

It was a bad choice of words on Napoleon's part, even though he didn't realize it. All the relaxation fled from Illya and he was back to his hard and fast reality. Taste.

"Why are you here?" He pulled out of reach and rolled over to face Napoleon.

"What do you mean?" Napoleon sounded openly confused.

""Why are you **here**?"

"Beside the mind-blowing sex, you mean?" Napoleon's grin fled nearly as fast as it came. "I'm here because it's where I want to be. Illya, I searched this entire country looking for you. First we thought you'd been taken by THRUSH, then I didn't know what to think. All I knew is that I had to find you."

"How did you find me?"

"There was a review of Taste in the New York Times. The more I read, the more I knew it had to be you. I didn't know why or how, but the next thing I knew I was driving into Jackson." Napoleon sat up and found his pants. He fumbled with them until he found his wallet. He held it out for Illya to see. "I carry the review with me now, just to remind myself how lucky I am to be given a second chance."

"But for how long?"

"For as long as you'll have me."

Illya sighed and returned to his original position. "And what happens when I'm all used up, Napoleon? What then?" He felt Napoleon's breath on his neck.

"What makes you think I'll be any less committed? Illya, I swear nothing will come between us. That woman, she was a THRUSH plant using some sort of mind-altering drug. It wasn't me."

Illya sighed again. "I know." His voice sounded small and he hated it. He hated the doubt, the guilt, the lack of trust that ate at his gut. He just wanted to surrender and never worry about it again, but he couldn't.

"I will make you trust me again, Illya, just like you used to. I swear it." The light snapped off. "Let's get some sleep."

Illya's nod was unseen, but he did it anyway. The stress of running Taste and Napoleon's lovemaking ripped all the fight from his body and he let sleep claim him.

Illya woke with a start and instantly checked his watch. It was early Sunday morning, barely seven. Daylight was starting to peek around the edges of the curtain and he could hear birds chirping. He flopped his head to the right and looked at Napoleon or rather where Napoleon should have been.

The bed was empty. For a moment, Illya's gut clenched and he sat up, then he heard the water in the pipes and realized Napoleon was in the shower. He let go the tension and collapsed back to the mattress, closing his eyes for just a moment.

For a moment, he let himself float on a cloud of peace. But it didn't last long. It never did. Soon he'd have to be up, cooking breakfast for his staff. It was a Sunday tradition. It started with just Matt, but then others joined in. Now it was open to whomever on staff wanted to come. Since the breakfasts often ended up being informal staff meetings, there was usually a high attendance. It seemed like it was just yesterday he'd done that. The days flew by so fast now.

The shower stopped and that's when Illya heard the rain. It didn't much matter these days. It was too cold to eat outside and it was easier to prep at Taste than in his kitchen. Soon there would be fresh herbs and flowers from his garden boxes. That was good. He was tired of paying the high prices some of their distributors charged.

He felt a soft finger against his cheek and opened his eyes. Napoleon was leaning over him, smiling. For just a moment, Illya feared it was a dream.

"Good morning, Sleepyhead."

"Sleepyhead?" Illya checked his watch. Barely a few minutes had passed. "It's only just seven."

"Three hours ago," Napoleon said and twisted his arm around.

"Ten? TEN?" Illya started to climb from the bed. "Stupid watch. It stopped again."

"If you don't wind them, then that happens." Napoleon got out of his way. "What are you doing?"

"I need to start cooking breakfast. The staff will be here any minute."

"Illya, it's Monday."

That stopped Illya in his tracks. "Really?"

"Would I lie to you?"

Illya considered snapping off a hostile answer but thought better of it. "No, no matter what, you have never lied to me." He flopped back on the bed. "So if it's Monday and I'm off, why did you wake me up?"

"Because you have a meeting with Matt this morning about the Valentine's Day menu."

Illya rubbed his forehead. "That's right. It had slipped my mind. Is he here?"

"I gave him some coffee and some of that sweetbread Jesus made. He's happy."

"Could you keep him busy long enough for me to take a shower?"

"Of course."

Illya was halfway through his shower when a sudden thought occurred to him. _Keep Matt busy_. The words suddenly came back to Illya with a sickening new meaning. He rinsed off and barely paused to dry himself off before throwing on a pair of sweat pants and a tee shirt. He hurried to the staircase and then thought better of it. Carefully, he eased down them, knowing just where to step to avoid any warning creaks.

"I don't know what to do, Matt." He heard Napoleon as he eased closer to the kitchen door. "I'm out of ideas."

"_Cara_, why do you need ideas? You love Chef, _si_?"

"With my heart and soul. I've never felt like this about anyone, God help me, not even my wife. I love him so much it aches. When he left, I thought I would die. I wanted to."

"So did he… to die, but to surrender is not in his blood. He is a survivor, whether he wants to be or not. But I know… he hurt for so long."

"And I would give anything to erase that hurt."

"You can't. It is what has made him the man he is today. He cooks with a fiery passion because of your betrayal. To take that from him would leave him with nothing. Just be patient. I know he fears your abandonment, like before."

Napoleon sighed. "But, Matt, I never left him. He left, not me. Without letting me say a word, one minute he was there and the next, it was as if he'd been swallowed whole. I'm totally committed to him, but what do I do to convince him of that?"

"Do what I do. Just love him."

"You really do, don't you? Love him?"

"_Si, Cara_, with my heart and soul, but he is not for me. Rocky, he is for me, but that doesn't lessen my love for Illya. However to him, I will always be…. um, _secondi trascurati_?"

"Sloppy seconds? I don't think you could ever be classified as that, Matt."

"Perhaps, no, but, _Cara_, it was not my name he called in the middle of the night or when we made love. However, I fear neither of us is his lover now."

"What? Who?"

"The woman who has his heart, soul and wallet, Taste." Matt sighed. "How could we compare to her?"

Illya's gut twisted at that. He hadn't realized. He squared his shoulders and headed quietly back upstairs. He reached the top and came down normally, creaking and cracking as he went.

"Matt? Napoleon?"

"Kitchen," Napoleon shouted. Illya took a beat and then entered. Both men were seated at the table, empty plates in front of them. Illya looked at the plates and shook his head.

"Did you leave me anything?" Illya slid into a chair across from them.

"No, but there's a very nice quiche that Matt brought along." Napoleon rose and grabbed the coffee pot. Illya's mug was waiting for him.

Illya grinned. "To the rescue, like always. Did I ever tell you how Matt found me?"

"I don't think so." Napoleon carried the quiche to the table and watched Illya cut himself a generous slab.

"I was taking Intro to Culinary Arts. Three classes in, our instructor gave us a take home test… and I was totally lost. I had no idea where to even look for the information."

"I refuse to believe that."

"Believe it. What is the Six By Six rule?" Illya asked. Napoleon shrugged his shoulders. "For proper storage in your food locker, you need to have everything stored six inches from the floor and six inches from the wall."

"Why didn't you know that?"

"We hadn't been taught it yet. Come to find out, Chef had given us the wrong test, but I was ready to chuck the whole thing. Matt came along and threw me a life line. He was a year ahead of me and already knew the basics."

"He was like a lost puppy," Matt murmured. "All eyes and _expressione triste_."

"Thank God you decided to take him home and keep him." Napoleon took advantage of Illya chewing his mouthful to slip in a line.

"He did, too. He needed a roommate and I needed to get out of the fleabag hotel I was living in."

Matt shook his head. "Within two semesters, he'd surpassed me in just about everything, except mincing."

"And there's a really bad joke in that that I'm not going to make." Illya reached across the table and took Matt's hand, giving it a fast squeeze. "I wouldn't be here without him… or you. Thank you."

"Don't thank me until after you see what I brought you." Matt pulled his hand back and reached into his knife bag for a notebook. "I am, how do you say, _un pozzo ascutitto_."

"A dry well?"

"_Si_, I have nothing."

"Not to fear, let me share Napoleon's ideas with you."

"Napoleon? He has good ideas?"

"Yeah, it's not the first time he's rescued me. I don't know why he keeps coming back, but I'm always grateful that he does." Illya said, smiling at Napoleon and winked. "He's a keeper."

"You should be shot." Illya made it as far as the couch and collapsed. From the other end of the couch, Napoleon peered over the top of his glasses and smirked. "I was out of my mind to agree to your menu."

"Hey, I just made suggestions. You were the one who said yes. And you are welcome." He'd sat at the bar for a while, nursing a scotch and water while watching the happy crowd dining at Taste. He listened to the cries of delight as each course was brought out and the praise lavished on the waiter upon his return.

"Do you know we are already half booked for next year? Keep that thinking cap on, Napoleon." Illya eased his feet out of his sneakers and winced as he flexed them. He looked hopefully over at Napoleon who patted his thigh. With a happy sigh, Illya lifted his feet to Napoleon's lap and leaned back.

Napoleon peeled off a sock and dropped it. Slowly, he began to rub Illya's foot, working the ache and stiffness out of it. Illya's head tipped back and a goofy smile appeared.

"I should take a picture of you," he murmured. "No one would recognize you."

"As long as you don't stop, you can do anything."

"Not even to give you your Valentine's gift?"

Illya's head came up. "I thought you said no gifts."

"Well, I've been known to have second thoughts." Napoleon twisted so that he could reach a bag. From inside, he withdraw a small colorfully wrapped box. "Here you go."

Illya's smile grew and he ripped the paper off and opened the box. "A new watch."

"Battery operated. You won't have to worry about remembering to wind it."

Illya took it out and held it up to see it better. That's when he saw the engraving. _The strongest of all warriors - Time and Patience._ "That's Tolstoy."

"It seemed appropriate."

Illya pulled off his old watch and slipped on the new one. "Thank you." Then, with a sly smile, he reached behind a cushion of the couch and pulled out an envelope. "And since we aren't exchanging gifts, I got you something, too."

"We really are evenly matched, aren't we?'

Napoleon opened the envelope and read the card, he sniffed at the sentiment expressed and nodded. "Thank you."

"There's more." Illya then took a sheet of slightly soiled paper from his chef jacket. "Sorry it's a bit of a mess, but I didn't want to leave it around the house." He unfolded the paper and handed it to Napoleon.

"What is this?"

"Hotel confirmation. We are taking a long weekend, just the two of us. No restaurant, no menus, no nothing. I thought it was time to make time just for us."

"Illya, I don't know what to say?"

Illya smiled and lifted his other foot to Napoleon's lap. "Say thank you."

"Thank you. When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow. We just have to pack. All the other arrangements have been made."

Napoleon's grin grew sly. "I used to be able to pack for a trip in twenty minutes."

"Same here?"

"That leaves us about six hours. Whatever shall we do with all that extra time?"

Illya arched off the sofa and turned off the light. He stood up and offered Napoleon his hand. "I think I've got a pretty good idea."

"That's what I like about you, Kuryakin. "Always thinking."

Taking Illya's hand, he let Illya pulled him to his feet and into his embrace. "Together?"

"Forever."


End file.
